


you can tell everybody (this is your song)

by withoutwords



Series: Isak and Even Short Fics. [4]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, set in some near future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: Isak’s fumbling at the frets of Even’s guitar, the blunt lines of his fingernails scratching at the wood.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, a funny story - but not that funny - I originally wrote this before the kitchen scene, before we discovered that Even's a bigger pop lover than Isak is. So, if I were to write this again, I don't think Isak would take Even's teasing without also reminding him that he listens to Gabrielle ;)

Isak’s fumbling at the frets of Even’s guitar, the blunt lines of his fingernails scratching at the wood. Even just watches him, for a while, the rumpled mess of him - still in the hoodie and jeans he wore to bed the night before. He looks beautiful, so delicate and enticing and it’s funny; Even can’t remember when he’s supposed to stop feeling like this.

  
When every time their eyes meet he won’t feel like he’s been suckerpunched.

  
He won’t feel like he’s losing air.

  
“So, are these just for decoration or what?” Isak asks, throwing Even a teasing grin.

  
“Uh huh,” Even says, barely looking up from the book he has on his lap. Truthfully, he hasn’t read a single sentence, and truthfully, Isak probably knows that. “They’re actually just 3D drawings, can’t you tell? I worked really hard on the detail.”

“Idiot.”

  
“Do you want me to play something for you?”

  
Isak’s mouth gapes a little (Even can see all the gaps in his teeth, thinks about running his tongue along them). “Are you fucking with me?”

  
“I can play!” Even protests. “I mean I’m no Slash, and my thumb does this weird thing where it bends back from when I broke it in first year trying to learn how to break dance but- “

  
“Okay, okay, okay.” Isak interrupts, taking the guitar down like he’s never handled one in his life, like it’s a newborn baby screaming for its mother. Even’s holding back his laughter as Isak passes it over, swinging the strap around his neck. “Enough excuses. If you’re lying you owe me beer. And food.”

  
“I always get you beer and food.” Even tuts at him, fiddling with the tuning keys and pretending not to notice the covetous looks Isak’s throwing him. He’ll have to remember that for another time; a time when he’s not still hung over and there’s not so many people home threatening to interrupt. “Now what do you like? You like, er, what’s her name, Ariana Grande?”

“Oh, shut up,” Isak huffs at him, flopping onto the bed.

  
“Or,” Even tries again, nudging at Isak’s side with a toe. “Or some, _What do you mean?_ You like _the Biebs_?"

   
Isak grabs Even’s foot, yanking on it and making Even slip a little. “Asshole!”

  
“Hey, I had to teach you who _Nas_ was!”

  
“I hate you,” he lies, Even’s foot still in his lap, and his hand rubbing gently along the arch. It’s solid, and it’s warmth, and it steadies him as always.

  
“Okay, alright, I have the song.” It starts to come back to Even, as he strums, even though it’s been so long, even though he thought he’d given it up. There’s a lot of things he thought he’d never do again. “ _When your legs don’t work like they used to before, and I can’t sweep you off of your feet_ ,”

  
“Even,” Isak tries to interrupt, sounding pained, Even struggling to keep singing around his laughter.

  
“ _Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love, will your eyes still smile from your cheeks_ ,”

  
“Idiot,”

  
“ _And darling I will be loving you ‘til we’re 70, and baby my heart could still fall as hard at …nineteen_ ,”

  
It’s Isak throwing his head into his hands that does it, the words falling away to Even’s laughter. He keeps playing, revelling in the way Isak watches him, the way Isak watches his fingers. He used to make music for his movies, or create songs for his school work, or play love ballads so his friends could try to woo girls.

  
It used to bring him a lot of joy.

  
He knows it will (it does) again.

  
“You’re a shitty singer,” Isak says when Even finishes, his tongue poking cheekily from the corner of his mouth. “But you play well. That was good.”

  
“You’re just saying that so I’ll give you food and beer.”

  
Isak huffs and pushes Even’s foot until it falls out of his lap. He starts to crawl up the bed, coming far enough to press a kiss to Even’s cheek, to whisper in Even’s ear, “I do like Ed Sheeran,” the sound of it rattling at Even’s spine.

  
“I know you do,” he says with a smile, and tilts his chin up for a kiss.


End file.
